


Downtime Drabbles

by fishbone76, Ren (FahRENheit2006)



Category: Mass Effect
Genre: Chatting & Messaging, Coffee, F/F, F/M, Flirting, Fluff, I Blame Tumblr, Mass Effect 3, Mass Effect 3: Citadel, Self-Reflection, Sharing a Bed, Silly, The Princess Bride References, Tumblr Prompt, Watching Someone Sleep
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2016-12-01
Updated: 2017-11-19
Packaged: 2018-09-03 16:19:52
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 8
Words: 15,478
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8720491
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/fishbone76/pseuds/fishbone76, https://archiveofourown.org/users/FahRENheit2006/pseuds/Ren
Summary: Shortfic dumping ground for all the Mass Effect fluff-trash rolling around in my head, as well as prompt requests from my Tumblr. Come for the sarcastic banter, stay for even more sarcastic banter. T rating for language. Mostly FemShep/Traynor with other pairings as the prompt requires. FemShep/Thane in Chapter 6.





	1. Chapter 1

Samantha Traynor yawned deeply, her eyes having trouble focusing. Only the comms specialist's forearms kept her heavy head propped up. Otherwise, she'd undoubtedly have already passed out and started snoring at the small table outside Apollo's Café.

"Late night, Specialist Traynor?" a familiar voice trilled just behind Sam, airy and smug.

"Is it that obvious, Commander?" Samantha tossed back with a groan. "I feel like I got head-butted by a krogan."

Commander Shepard sidled up next to Sam, nudging her affectionately on the shoulder. "I warned you not to do that last shot. Vega takes his free rounds of drinks **very** seriously. That top-shelf stuff can sneak up on you. Then **BAM!** "

Jerking upright, Sam flinched away from the Commander's bark right next to her ear. " **AHH!** Crikey Moses, Shepard!" The specialist's fingers flew to her temple to massage the sudden swimming pain. "It's too bloody early to play Drill Sergeant."

_Hm! We'll save that idea for… later._

_Classy, Traynor._

An exhale of a laugh, then a contrite "Sorry." Shepard stepped around the table to Sam's line of vision. Shepard's posture was oddly stiff, but Sam couldn't stay focused on that detail through the pounding in her head.

"It's almost **noon** , Samantha," Shepard reminded Sam, who mentally swore. "I could barely find a breakfast bistro open that still served coffee."

_Did she say "coffee?"_

Ears perked, Samantha asked hopefully, "But you **did** find one, right?"

Shepard grinned back smugly. She wiggled her akimbo elbows, hands still hidden behind her back. "This is not just any cup of coffee. But a pointlessly expensive, richly decadent **experience** of a cup of coffee. I hold in my hand an asari-pressed blend of genetically engineered **perfection** that promises galactic domination to one lucky enough to drink it."

The Commander presented a tall, steaming tumbler from her left hand. Sam managed to catch a whiff of coffee **heaven** , her stomach grumbling in anticipation.

"Uh **huh** ," Sam dryly assented. "…You gave them an endorsement, didn't you?"

"'I'm Commander Shepard and this is my favorite insert-business-category-here on the Citadel.'"

"You are positively shameless."

A bigger grin. "Maybe just a little."

Beckoning with both hands, Sam pleaded. "Well? Let's have it then, please. I'm going to be absolutely useless today otherwise without **something**. And besides, this little visit was **your** last-minute idea, remember. I was perfectly happy sleeping away my day off to avoid this very hangover."

Ignoring Sam's rant, Shepard announced a little louder. "I **also** possess, in these very hands, the Citadel's ultimate protein shake. Enough caffeine for a salarian undergrad. Enough omega-3s for an asari commando unit. Enough protein for a krogan doing a Rite. Tasting vaguely of turian sweat, this thick, oddly textured protein shake promises to transform its drinker into a hulking juggernaut of Reaper-crushing glory. **If** she can survive the taste."

Left hand disappearing behind her back, Shepard instead offered a bulbous glass of bright green sludge. A wide-mouthed straw was stabbed into the center of the concoction, which smelled faintly of fresh mulch.

"Ugh. That sounds awful— **ly** perfect for you." Sam's voice jumped from a scowl to a singsong when she caught Shepard's glare.

_Breakfast is breakfast at this point, yea?_

Sam squawked in dismay when that glass, too, disappeared again behind Shepard's back. The redhead cleared her throat.

"Samantha Traynor. I hereby challenge you to a battle of wits."

"For delicious coffee?"

A nod.

"To the death?"

Another nod.

"I accept!" Samantha crowed with delight, settling against her chair back.

_What are the odds it's a chess match?_

… _Right. Shepard is going to wager using_ _ **your**_ _favorite sport. How about 300,000 to one?_

_A video game, maybe?_

_A girl can dream._

The Commander's elbows bounced and Sam could hear the faint sound of shuffling. Once they settled, Shepard smiled.

"All right. Which hand has your coffee? The battle of wits has begun. The game ends when you decide and we both drink."

Wrinkling her nose, Sam considered it a moment.

_Well, that's not_ _**so** _ _bad. Technically, she's giving me two to one odds._

_Except one of those two chances is drinking beastly protein sludge while you're still sloshed from the night before._

_Odds of making pavement pizza should I lose?_

Sam's stomach gurgled. _A little too good. …Obviously the solution is to win, Traynor. …Or cheat._

Drumming her fingertips on the table, Samantha studied the smug Shepard before her.

Her shoulders were even, giving no indication of either drink. _So calculating posture and ratio of drink weight was out_.

_As if you even know how to do that. You're not_ _**that** _ _good, Traynor. Also: nerd._

_What else? What else what else what else…_

The coffee would be easier to smell, but Shepard was at the other end of the table and the Presidium weather was set to ["Mild, no breeze, standard solar temperature"] according to the weather Sam remembered reading this morning. The woman's solid physique allowed for no hint of steam to appear over her broad shoulders, either.

_Third option: make the odds better in my favor._

_Doesn't that count as cheating?_

_Shut it. And this counts as "stalling" rather than "cheating."_

_Are those not the same thing, Traynor?_

"It's so simple," Sam announced with a confident smile.

Shepard arched her eyebrows, but smiled back with encouragement. "Oh **is** it?"

"Of course. It all boils down to how well I know **you**."

A laugh. "Oh in that case, I should just hand it over then," Shepard smirked sarcastically but remained still.

_Damn. I was hoping she'd shift her weight or something._

_Keep pressing, Traynor._

Pointing lazily at Shepard's middle, Sam continued, "In your case, how likely are you to put something I want versus what you want in your dominant hand? And how much do you want to make me happy versus make me vomit all over your boots in the middle of the Presidium?"

"Samantha! I'm offended!" Shepard shook her head with mock-dismay. "You make it sound like I **deliberately** picked something terrible to hurt you. I'm an Alliance marine, oo-rah, and I need lots of calories and energy to keep this body running. No matter the taste. Plus, I spent a lot of credits, even with a discount, on your coffee because it was the best in the Citadel. So I care **plenty**."

"Just not enough to hand it over."

The Commander grinned. "Of course not. You need to **work** for it, Traynor. Build character or something."

' _Or something,'_ Sam retorted inwardly.

"So pick a hand already. This isn't analyzing data in the war room, or life or death. This is 'left hand' or 'right hand' and getting on with our day."

_A-ha! Not true!_

" **Everything** can be analyzed, Commander," Samantha quipped back. "What do you think I do all day? Increase the odds of our success using data. And analyzing the sources of those data to increase those odds further."

Rolling her eyes, Shepard looked up at the blue sky. "Oh **Jesus**. This is going to take forever. Get on with it already. My shake is getting warm and your coffee is getting cold. Or vice versa, depending on what you finally **pick**."

_Let's see…_

Sam assessed, "A simple Commander would put what she wants in her **right** hand to keep it close in her dominant hand. So I clearly can't choose your right. But!"

Shepard's mouth flapped opened, but she nodded for Sam to proceed.

"…You might have counted on me making that deduction, since obviously I know your hands quite well…" Shepard's cheeks reddened but she said nothing. "…so I can clearly not choose your **left** hand either."

"You've decided then?"

"Not even remotely," the comms specialist grinned, feeling the pride of putting on her analytics hat to solve a _(rather silly)_ problem. "You're an Alliance marine who spent most of your life fighting off bandits and Cerberus and other shady shits. Even now, gathering alien allies against the Reapers who always ask for favors… You're used to not being trusted by those around you, so you'd keep what you want close. So I can clearly not trust your **right** hand."

An appreciative laugh. "Truly you have a dizzying intellect." Sam thought she saw Shepard shift her weight a little, but unfortunately nothing conspicuous.

Shooting Shepard a finger-gun, Sam cackled, "Wait 'til I get going! …where was I?"

The redhead tilted her head and smiled lightly. "Trust."

"Yes, **trust**. You and I have been together only a few months, yes? Even so, I feel I can trust you completely." It was Sam's turn to blush a little.

_With tender realization about how smitten you are over Shepard?_

_Or because you're using the Girlfriend Card to_ _**win a bloody cup of coffee?** _

… _Can't it be both?_

"Feeling's mutual," Shepard muttered casually. She blushed a little also while her eyes crinkled at the edges.

"Brilliant." Samantha paused for a moment, actually savoring that fond little acknowledgement. A lazy smiled curled at Shepard's cheeks as well.

_Business, Traynor. War. Death. Famine. …Pestilence, probably._ _**Reaper** _ _pestilence._

… _But she's just so…_

_Cold coffee, Traynor._

Sam snapped out of it immediately. _Right!_

"So you could trust me to want to make you happy and not waste something you'd actually bloody appreciate. You'd offer me something I want with your right hand. So I can clearly not choose your **left**."

The Commander beamed at that deduction. Her elbows noticeably jostled this time as her feet shuffled bashfully.

_You're such an arsehole, Traynor. I hope you know that._

_I'm aware, thanks._

"When you want to, you can be awfully s—wait." Green eyes narrowed at the specialist, cross but amused. "You're stalling. It won't work."

Sam's hands up innocently. "You'd think that? About moi? I'm just saying: you're a trained N7 bloody Vanguard. You'd want to pound back that awful shake, so I can't pick your trigger hand. But you've come back from the dead, so you're keenly aware of your own mortality. You'd want to savor every moment, and not waste an experience on a joke. So, again, I can't pick your left hand."

An awkward cough sounded behind Samantha, as well as some embarrassed whispering. Apparently their conversation had drawn the attention of some Apollo's Café patrons behind them, but Sam refused to break eye contact with Shepard to see who it was.

A sad headshake and a _tsk_ sound from Shepard. "You're trying to trick me into giving away something, aren't you? That's just low, Sam. And to think I was attracted to how honest and straightforward you were."

"You still are," Sam grinned. "And you've given everything away, actually. I know where my coffee is."

"Oh thank God," Shepard sighed in exasperation. "Make your choice already. Shore leave is almost over."

_I will!_ Samantha grinned.

"I choose—isn't that your friend waving over there? Miranda something?" Sam tilted her head and pointed up the staircase near the apartment complex.

"What? Where?" Shepard turned slightly, exposing her back just a few degrees for Sam to glimpse a steaming coffee cup her right hand.

_So. She chose trust._

_Also 'living in the moment' by your ridiculous logic._

The Commander quickly jerked back and scowled. She wasn't stupid.

_One of the many things I like ever so much about her._

Extending a proud left hand, Samantha chirped, "Right hand, thanks. And could I trouble you for a croissant from Zakera Café while we're out? That would probably go great with coffee."

Shepard sighed deeply, presenting the magnificent cup before Sam.

"Fiiiine. …Close your eyes."

Obliging, Sam arched her eyebrows smugly, parted her lips and waited in darkness. She felt a heavy presence to her left _(_ _ **Hopefully**_ _Shepard. If not, start flailing)_ then heard a scraping sound on the table in front of her. The wonderful coffee smell returned, and Samantha sighed in anticipation.

Suddenly, pressure descended on her mouth as Shepard kissed her. Smiling, Sam deepened the kiss for a moment… before pulling away quickly and opening her eyes.

_Ugh!_

"Blugh! Shepard! You didn't!" Sam made a gagging noise and pushed her knuckles at her mouth, inside and out, to get rid of the taste. A sticky green sludge coated the back of her hand.

" _Turian sweat" was a generous description of whatever that shit is. Blech._

The Commander uttered a deep belly laugh and licked the remaining green liquid off her lips. She took a long, childish sip of her protein shake. Her hair swayed below her ears as she bounced her shoulders with enjoyment. "Perfect start to a day, Traynor. I feel like I can take on the galaxy."

_How can she be so infuriating and so adorable?_

_Oh, you mean like you were attempting earlier, Traynor?_

The protein shake foulness lingering in her mouth, and Sam's only solution was the coffee in front of her. Rather than a slow, measured sip of her victory spoils, Sam grasped at the cup in desperation. She sucked down a little of the coffee, then sputtered as it scalded her tongue on the way back out.

_At least it wasn't cold?_

_Annnnd now I can barely taste it,_ Sam frowned as she attempted a smaller drink. It was still _bloody_ fantastic; rich with cream, a hint of sweetness, a heady start with a chocolaty finish. It was **not** , however, the nirvana it should have been through burnt taste buds.

_Totally your fault. Wouldn't have gotten a mouthful of turian bollocks if you hadn't been such a tosser, Traynor._

_Totally worth it, though._

"How is it?" Shepard asked lightly.

"How much was it?"

Kicking at the ground, Shepard muttered, "Fifteen hundred credits."

_Fifteen hun—!_

Samantha almost sputtered again, but she held it in. "It's bloody fantastic. Best cup I've ever had." Which, even through her burnt mouth, was actually true. It was pleasantly warming her insides and settling her stomach.

The Commander beamed back and nodded for Sam to get up. "If you can manage to be good, maybe I'll even get you another one someday."

"My **hero** ," Sam teased back as she stood, then followed a step behind Shepard as the woman headed for the Ward stairs. "And I'm **always** good. Except for now. And last night. And the night before tha—"

The comms specialist stopped dead in her tracks when she saw who was sitting down two tables over. Shepard had continued on, leaving Sam the only one staring back at Diana Allers, EDI and Joker. Diana's grin was nothing short of shit-eating glee, while Joker was sporting exaggerated disgust. EDI only blinked back curiously.

"You two are …really something, Traynor," The reported smirked as she gave a clumsy thumbs up.

"Something **stupid** ," Joker agreed. "Some of us were eating." He pointed behind Samantha, who turned to see a salarian C-Sec agent in shiny gray armor on the veranda. "And you **do** know you could see everything on the reflection of that guy's uniform, right?" The bearded pilot waved, and Sam could indeed see a tiny distorted Joker wave back.

_Oh son of a bitch!_

"Winning's winning, Moreau. No matter the process," Sam stuck her tongue out at Joker before she hurried to catch up to Shepard. The Commander was waiting by upper stairwell, looking down at Sam below. Sam waved up at the woman, though she did flash a middle finger at Allers as she sped past.

"Have fun storming the castle, Traynor!" Allers called back. "And by 'castle,' I mean 'Shepard's—'!" Joker clapped a hand over her mouth and muttered something indistinguishable as Sam joined Shepard on the stairs.

Gesturing with her coffee, Sam took another appreciative slurp. _Bloody Christ this is delicious._ "What's on the docket for the day? Since you have me, I guess I should oblige a woman who buys me breakfast. And hopefully lunch and dinner."

Shepard pushed at Samantha's shoulderblades to direct her toward the elevator. Sam noticed the woman's tongue was green. "I was thinking of catching a cinema in the Wards, then maybe hit up the Strip for some games. Dinner is a surprise."

"You know how much I love analyzing the shit out of surprises," Sam grinned.

"I do indeed." An airy laugh. "What do you think?"

"As you wish, Shepard."


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> #23 from fishbone76 this prompt on Tumblr: "things you said when you put me back into my cage after being caught. :D"

"This is the third time this week," Shepard sighed as she snapped the lid shut. She tapped a finger on the glass cage, where a brown and white bundle of fur squeaked back happily. "Look, I know you miss me. But you're starting to freak out the crew."

The terminal next to the hamster cage flashed a series of unread email subject lines, none of which Shepard needed to open to get the gist: Socks was becoming a bit of a menace on the Normandy.

"See? Your 'fan mail' is starting to stack up. I'm getting a reputation for being a terrible mother." The SpecTRe sighed and flicked a finger half-heartedly across the holo screen to browse her emails.

["THAT HAMSTER SCARED THE SHIT OUT OF ME!"] _Vega? Maybe Samantha. Allers uses more exclamation points._

["Shepard, either I need a proper bed or your hamster needs a leash"] _…you're the one who wanted to crash on the couch and/or floor, Ash._

["Your little bosh'tet crawled up my leg. I almost overclocked the drive core into a black hole."] _Can you blame him? It's a nice leg, Tali!_

Shepard drummed her fingers on her desk and glared at the rodent. Socks squeaked in alarm and burrowed down in his bedding. Only the hamster's wriggling nose and a few whiskers could be seen poking out.

["In my cycle…"] _Don't even need to finish that,_ Shepard smirked and scrolled past.

["I have a bet going with one of the engineers. Can I borrow your hamster for my next set of calibrations? I'm thinking organic ammo for the Thanix. Reapers won't see him coming."] _No, Garrus. Just… no._

["I had an honorary co-pilot during our last mission. Good conversationalist, but don't really have seat belts that small. Should I put in a requisition?"] _Wait, Socks made it off-ship on Cortez's shuttle?!_

"You're gonna get yourself spaced, little guy," Shepard sighed again. "If you become too big a distraction…" She let the threat hang in the air and continued skimming the last few emails.

["It was nice to have some company in the Med-Bay last night. You hamster also seems to have a taste for Serrice Ice Brandy."] _You would be a_ _ **terrible**_ _veterinarian, Karin._

["Despite Jeff's objections, I noted a 12% increase in conversation in the presence of your mesocricetus auratus in the cockpit. May I run further tests to determine optimal hamster placement for maximum dialogue?"] _We are not experimenting on my hamster, EDI._

["I barely got any work done last night because Glyph was focused more on rounding up your pet rather than updating me."] _Well, you probably needed the sleep anyway, Liara. You're going to run yourself into… the… ground…_

"…which was the point, wasn't it?" Shepard cocked her head, tucking a strand of red hair behind her ear. "You devious little shit. You're doing this on purpose to distract everybody from the war."

Squeaking, Socks half-emerged from his hole. The hamster's black eyes blinked back innocently, the little pink nose sniffing at the air in quick intervals.

Shepard dug a hamster treat disc out of her desk drawer, then thought better of it and grabbed a handful. She sprinkled them into the glass terrarium.

"I neither condone nor deny this sort of behavior, Soldier."

Two discs were already crammed into fat cheeks while tiny paws reached for more. Muffled, excited squeaks echoed in the cage. Shepard laughed and rubbed a forefinger along Sock's back.

"But I think there's a promotion in your future."


	3. Chapter 3

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> #14 from this prompt on Tumblr: "things you said after you kissed me"

Samantha Traynor begrudgingly turned aside and ( _again_ ) asked, "How—you're absolutely terrible—how long do we have?"

Denied Sam's lips, Commander Shepard took the opportunity to breathily kiss along the woman's jawline. Her fingertips tracing along the back of Sam's neck, and Shepard exhale-laughed as she reached an earlobe.

"If you're that worried…" Shepard pulled away and said to the ceiling, "EDI?"

"Specialist Rueffer is still collecting the datapad you requested from the bridge, Commander. Her current trajectory indicates the Specialist will return to the War Room in approximately 6.2 minutes, including reprocessing through the security barrier," the Normandy AI responded.

Shepard gave a predatory smile and pressed Sam a little more firmly against the War Table in the center of the round, empty room. "See? Basically an eternity."

Sam leaned back in for a series of deep kisses. "I never thought—" _One_. "—I'd be grateful—" _Two_. "—for that absurd security system…" _Three through seven._

"It can be handy," Shepard agreed huskily. Her hands loosely stroked along Samantha's sides, while Sam had to resist the urge to tangle her fingers in Shepard's thick red hair, instead hanging lightly on her shoulders. _They_ _ **were**_ _on a timer, after all._

But Sam did indulge in a few biting pulls on those full lips, enjoying the sharp inhales in response as Shepard tried to keep up. The Commander switched her head tilt, bumping Sam's nose in her haste. Pressing in closely, Shepard added a few sucking kisses of her own, which forced Sam to break contact with a shuddering gasp.

Shepard's grin was infuriatingly smug. "You taste rather good this morning, Sam," she said casually.

"Oh, I'm delighted you noticed," Samantha retorted, dipping her head with mock-modesty. "I really went all out with that breakfast protein bar and morning tea."

Green eyes flicked down to Sam's lips before returning upward with a crinkle. "I can tell you put honey in your tea."

Blushing, Sam readjusted her arms to wrap around Shepard's neck. "And what was your morning regimen for this 'planned' spontaneity?"

Shepard exhale-laughed before squinting upward in thought. "Well, I got a good night's sleep…"

"You're welcome," Sam interrupted with a grin.

Shepard blushed this time, but continued. "…then I wolfed down a 10,000 calorie MRE brick before kicking the shit out of some Reapers."

"Oh I noticed," Sam purred back mockingly. "I can really taste the bouquet of flavor from that Reaper ass-kicking. Like strawberries and boot sweat."

Offering a sloppy kiss on Sam's cheek, Shepard said, "You're **welcome**."

EDI's voice came over the private intercom in both their earpieces. "I apologize for interrupting, but Specialist Rueffer is passing through the security curtain now and is anticipated to return to the War Room in approximately 49 seconds."

Both women's eyes met with shared panic, but they smiled as they disentangled themselves from the war asset table.

_Thank Christ for smudge-proof lipstick._

Sam gave Shepard's nose a quick kiss before licking a thumb to tame a few flyaway red hairs. Shepard in turn smoothed out Samantha's uniform top that had ( _somehow_!) come untucked.

Sam felt a playful pinch to her backside as she trotted back to her console, and shot an insincere scowl back at the Commander. Shepard had resumed a stoic, thoughtful position at the glowing war asset interface.

At 15 seconds, Sam resumed her data compilation and asked, "How do you want to play it this time?"

"Mid-conversation? I think last time it was awkward silence."

"Don't forget to Commander it up."

Shepard gave a wide, glowing smile. "Aye-aye."

There was a swishing noise as the War Room doors opened, and a young officer hurried down the steps.

Luckily, Sam had already started talking."—and the turians promised more ships for protecting Crucible supply runs. But they're running two days behind."

"Push back on that, Traynor. We need that support yesterday," Shepard replied sternly.

"Yes, ma'am," Sam affirmed with feigned sheepishness.

Shepard thanked the Specialist for the datapad just as EDI alerted the Commander about an incoming call from the Fifth Fleet. Sighing, Shepard strode over to the Comm Room at the far end. She threw Sam a small wink before disappearing behind closed doors.

"Damn," Specialist Rueffer exclaimed as she settled into her console a tier above Sam's. "Has the Commander been riding you the whole time I've been gone?"

 _You could say that_ , Sam thought with a suppressed grin.

"Oh, it felt like an eternity," Sam said somberly before returning to her work.


	4. Chapter 4

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> #23b: Things you said when we were fighting over the soft and cozy fishbone hoodie. (+points for mentioning lemon curd), Shaynor

[](https://fahrenheit06.deviantart.com/art/Nuuuu-not-my-Lemon-Curd-715716683)

"No."

"What do you mean, 'no?'" Commander Shepard asked innocently. The woman did a lazy, theatric stretch on the couch, her feet propped up on the coffee table.

A crackling fire threw warm light across the apartment living room, which was a bit disheveled after a week of shore leave. There were more than a few beer bottles and food wrappers stacked haphazardly atop the designer furniture. Even the grand piano in the corner had lipstick-smeared wineglasses precariously perched above the keys.

It was warm, comfortable, and above all: normal.

_A little too normal._

"No. Nein. Nahi. Bu." Samantha Traynor stated before stretching out her hand. "Give it back."

More feigned innocence in the form of batting eyelashes. "Give what back?" Shepard tilted her head.

"You know what, you prat." Sam leaned over and tugged at the sleeve of Shepard's hooded sweatshirt.

Or, rather, **Samantha's** hooded sweatshirt that Shepard happened to be wearing.

One **could** make the leap in logic that it was an accident, a mistake. After all, Shepard's trademark N7 hoodie was also dark in color. But the red and white stripe on the sleeve was absent, and in place a small N7 logo was a bold white type spelling out "FISHBONE" with a big-headed fish skeleton design to match. It could have been just a simple mix-up.

_Except not even close._

The Comms Specialist shivered in her tank top and loose pajama pants. "I've been looking all over the place for that."

_Also discovered a few more things about Admiral Anderson's and Kahlee Sander's personal life I could have lived a full life without knowing. Note to self: burn the box that's under the master bath sink._

Shepard pretended not to understand, a deep wrinkle appearing above her eyebrows. "Looking all over for **me**? You're welcome to join me. I can keep you warm." She patted the spot next to her suggestively.

Sam refused to buy into this **act**. "You're bloody awful, you know that? You knew full well I was hopping in the shower and I set out that hoodie on the bed."

"This thing?" Shepard absently pulled on one of the faded black cords, cinching the neck tighter. "I thought it was a gift. You mean you weren't being sweet to your favorite Commander? I'm hurt, Sam."

"One, you're my **only** Commander. B, I'm **always** sweet. Three, you **have** a bloody hoodie already," Sam huffed back and crossed her arms to try and conserve body heat. She inched closer to the fireplace.

"But mine's in the laundry," Shepard countered. "Because, remind me, didn't **someone** spill wine on it?" Her smile was toothy and fake while she tapped her chin with a forefinger.

Face turning red, Sam started stammering. "That! That was not my fault! There was—you brushed my arm and I jumped. It's not my fault your chest caught my glass of wine glass before I could."

She also keenly recalled Shepard having to strip down to her sports bra on the spot to remove the stained clothing.

_That was a goooood morning._

… _Maybe you shouldn't have been drinking at 10am?_

 _That's what shore leave is_ _**for** _ _, dammit. Making poor decisions and damn the consequences._

"Riiiiiight," Shepard deadpanned with skepticism. She was now twirling one of the cords. "And what happened after was just spur of the moment. Completely unplanned by the woman who calculates odds for everything."

_I admit nothing._

"…well, I don't recall hearing any complaining at the time," Sam evaded before placing a hand on her hip. "When life gives you lemons, clean the lemons off and take them to bed? Or something? I'm dreadful at idioms." Her other hand waved dismissively before extending once more. "I'd still like my hoodie back. The one my mum sent me from Horizon? In a care package? For her only daughter?"

There was a tsking noise deep in Shepard's throat. "Trying for emotional blackmail now? As if I didn't love and cherish my jacket, that **you** ruined, as though it were the last memento I had from Earth or something?" She shook her head. "You leave me no other choice, Traynor."

Shepard smirked and pulled out a small jar from the sweatshirt's front pouch pocket. She held it up and asked aloud, "Why, what ever could this be?"

"No." Sam froze in place, her outstretched fingers clenching.

_No no no no no no. Undo undo undo undo._

"Could this be Samantha Traynor's secret stash of lemon curd? The very thing she loves most in this world?"

Whining in dismay, Sam made a feeble swipe for it, but Shepard pushed herself away off the couch. The woman's reflexes were lightning fast, a sharp contrast to her languid and lazy behavior just moments ago. She held the jar just out of Samantha's reach.

"A free hoodie **and** a free jar of sweet tasty goodness? Why, what an amazing gift in return for always stealing my hoodie on the Normandy. You're one of a kind, Sam." There was a clicking-pop as the container lid twisted off in Shepard's hand.

"And you're absolutely terrible," Sam pouted before making another feeble swipe for the lemon curd. "Whatever did I do to deserve such punishment? Do I, or my heroic toothbrush, mean nothing to Commander Shepard?"

Shepard shook her head. "We **both** know that's a lie." The Commander trailed an index finger around the jar before tasting the tart confection. "Just one little apology for the red wine incident. And all will be forgiven and this beloved treat will even be returned to you. Otherwise…"

A strangled "NO!" escaped Sam's lips as she darted forward. She caught Shepard's wrists, one of which held the lemon curd tipped precariously near the front of the bright white FISHBONE logo.

"Why Sam, I had no idea this hoodie meant that much to you." The curl of Shepard's red lips was insufferably superior.

"Okay! I concede! You made your point!" Samantha scowled, though she did not release her grip on the woman's wrists. "I'm a complete tosser and I'm sorry I ruined your hoodie."

Shepard's red bangs bounced with her sober nod. "Apology accepted. I declare a cessation of hostilities. Full retreat." She tilted her head and raised her eyebrows, then slowly wiggled her hands out of Sam's grasp. She very slowly refastened the top onto the lemon curd jar and offered it to Sam.

The Comms Specialist clutched it greedily, eyeballing it for missing contents. "My precious. Did the mean ol' Commander hurt you? Show me where she violated you."

"See? I'm a woman of my word." Shepard's lips smacked suddenly. "Though I might have yielded too easily. That was pretty damn good."

"Don't listen to her. She'll never take you from me again," Sam whispered to the jar as she pressed it to her cheek.

There was a sudden dull beep from somewhere in the apartment. A male Virtual Intelligence voice announced, "Laundry cycle complete, Admiral Anderson. Please remove current load now."

They both narrowed their eyes at each other. Sam took one step back towards the kitchen, knowing she had a two meter lead on Shepard to the laundry room.

"You wouldn't," Shepard scoffed. "After the fit you just threw over me taking yours?"

"You forget, I'm still bloody freezing," Samantha reminded her and took another step back. "And I just did the math. It'll take less time to resteal your hoodie than it will be for you to take mine off. Plus it'll be so nice and warm!" And with that, Sam spun on her heel and sprinted across the kitchen. Her wet hair left cold lines across her cheeks, but she ignored it.

 _Greedy_ _**and** _ _fickle. A new record._

_It's what makes me so loveable._

In only ten seconds, Sam had ripped open the clothes dryer door, found the red-striped jacket, and managed to thrust her lemon curd-gripping hand through one sleeve. She pulled the other sleeve on and was zipping up just as Shepard appeared behind her, still trying to pull the faded hooded sweatshirt over her head.

The Commander scowled, but instead of fighting it just threw up her hands in defeat. She pulled the faded sweatshirt back on and untucked her red hair from the collar with a sweep of her hand.

"Back to square one, I see," Shepard sighed, but her eyes crinkled.

"Actually, I have my lemon curd back, so I kind of came out ahead," Sam grinned, tucking her prize into one of the jacket's side pockets. She patted it for safekeeping.

"I think I'm getting the better deal," Shepard said as she laced her arm behind Sam's back and guided them back to the living room.

"How do you figure? Mine is so fresh and clean," Sam breathed, zipping up the jacket all the way to the top and inhaling deeply.

Shepard's lips quirked in a small smile and she looked away. "This one smells like you. Like your hair fresh out of the shower."

Samantha stopped and stepped in front of Shepard in the hallway. She smirked. "Why bother with my sweatshirt when you can have the real thing?"

"Right now?"

"Right now."

"…this is a trick to claim both hoodies, isn't it?" Shepard asked suspiciously.

 _Maybe_. "…Maybe?"

The Commander leaned forward and kissed Sam's nose. "Well, when life gives you lemons, clean the lemons off and take them to bed, right?"

"What marvelous advice," Samantha agreed as she was led upstairs.


	5. Chapter 5

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Prompt #21: Things you said when we were on top of the world, Shaynor

_It's not a huge crowd by any means. Half these people are probably drunk and just wandered over to see what the fuss was about_ , Samantha Traynor told herself (in a desperate attempt to calm her nerves).

But her head was swimming nonetheless. The Castle Arcade in the Silversun Strip seemed so much **louder** than usual. So much beeping and clicking and shouting from the array of quasar machines, roulette tables, and varren race-betting patrons nearby.

 _And was the lighting always this_ _ **garish**_ _?_ Sam squinted against the dim, strobing lighting from so many holo signs and advertisements.

She stood in a line on the main staircase of the arcade. The casino's owner, a volus whose name she didn't remember, was giving a great wheezy speech about luck and courage over the balcony. Next to him stood a small table of trophies guarded by two batarian bodyguards.

She felt insecure and underdressed to be there in just an Alliance uniform. It hadn't even occurred to Sam to get dolled up for her own awards ceremony for winning the chess tournament, whereas the salarian Skyllian Five champion, turian Armax Arsenal Arena team champs, and asari quasar winner were all in expensive garb.

_Was there a memo I missed? Or is it just the understood rule of winning things at casinos that you're supposed to be posh?_

_If you hadn't been_ _**banned** _ _from so many casinos you might have learned the etiquette, Traynor._

… _It's not my fault there are stupid rules over using bloody_ _ **math**_ _in a bloody card game._

There was a ping to Sam's Omni-tool. She glanced down at the brief direct message.

["A Citadel source informed me an Alliance soldier had won the chess tournament at the Casino. I can think of only one person who that might apply to. So congrats, nerd! Not really a Battlespace-worthy event, but I'll definitely get you a headline on the ANN crawl feed. Let's grab a drink later and you can tell me all about it! …not **all** all about it. I don't know what the shit you're talking about most of the time with chess. But the important thing is there will be drinks."]

… _Allers_. Sam shook her head, but smirked a little with pride before continuing to pretend to listen. The closer the volus got to winding down, the greater Samantha's anxiety increased.

_Am I supposed to say something? A speech? I guess I should thank him for the opportunity to kick some arse in chess? And for the prize money? Is this going to be like my university commencement all over again when I forgot whose hands to shake?_

_What a disaster._

She was grateful the other champions were higher up on the steps than her, which meant she could just follow their lead. But it was rather lonely up there. The turian guys were snickering among themselves, while the asari and salarian gamblers seemed to know each other and chatted amicably.

She was starting to think this was a dreadful idea.

Looking back over the small crowd of politely interested patrons below, Samantha thought she saw a familiar strip of red and white in the crowd.

"First up, our five-time quasar champion: A'sana Naris! You look—" The volus took a gasping breath. "—lovely as always."

A polite blue hand shot up to wave as A'sana disengaged from the salarian and ascended a few steps to the balcony.

Fortunately, the asari did not give a speech.

 **Unfortunately** , she did engage in chit-chat with the volus (as apparently they were old pals). Plus, some of the asari's friends were cheering her on below.

_Shit shit shit shit_ _**shit** _ _. Why didn't I_ _**invite** _ _people to this? Shepard? Allers?_

_Because you thought it was just an in-and-out sort of affair, Traynor. Step one: show up. Step two: ? and step three: collect your trophy and credits. Maybe glad-hand the owner and take a picture for his office wall or something._

_Maybe… Maybe I can ring them really really quickly?_

That trophy and credit chit were so very close. Sam was tempted to just go up, grab 'em, and run like hell. One of the batarian bodyguards noticed the comms specialist leaning out and eyeballing the awards, glared, and widened his stance aggressively.

 _Eeep_.

The turian bro squad started whooping when their names were called. There was an answering holler below from a row of friends wearing matching jackets. The three turians picked up the volus mid-speech and hoisted him on their shoulders before posing for pictures with their team trophy.

_Oh shit. And when I go up, it'll be crickets._

As she contemplated slowly backing down the stairs and making a run for it, Samantha started hearing whispers of excitement in the crowd. Turning, Sam squinted out below and spotted that flash of red and white again.

Slowly making her way through the crowd was Commander Shepard, clad in familiar N7 hoodie and Alliance uniform.

If she was attempting to be discrete, Shepard was failing miserably. The casino guests barely interested in a bunch of awards to a bunch of gamblers were swooning as she passed by. Omni-tools hummed to life to take holos and pictures of the first human SpecTRe.

Sam finally locked eyes with Shepard, who looked sheepishly apologetic as a human couple was vigorously shaking her hand and clapping her on the back. Shepard managed to pull away long enough to fire up her Omni-tool on her wrist.

A moment later, Sam felt the answering ping of a message.

["Sorry I'm late. Wouldn't miss your big day for anything."]

_How did she know?_

_EDI, probably._

Looking back down, Sam met an intense gaze from Shepard. The woman beamed back with pride, completely ignoring a beautiful asari who was talking at her elbow. When the asari started brushing a flirty hand across Shepard's jacket, the woman excused herself to push past.

Sam even managed to hear a snippet that sent a pleased flutter through her chest.

"—f you'll excuse me, my girlfriend is up next and I don't want to miss it."

_She's—she called me her Girlfriend. In public. To other people._

_Wait, "up next?"_

"…And we have Lieutenant Samantha Traynor of the—" Wheeze. "—Human Systems Alliance as our new Kepesh-Yakshi champion!"

_Wait—shit—what?_

Sam's head jerked so fast back to the volus on the balcony that her black hair snapped across her face. Spitting out a few strands that had stuck to her lips, Sam nervously tucked her hair behind her ears before ascending the few stairs.

There was a murmur of chuckles along with a few polite claps, and Samantha felt her cheeks start to burn with embarrassment. Suddenly, there was loud raucous applause sprinkled with high-pitched whistling.

It was Shepard. The woman was alternating swift, heavy claps with pressing her forefingers to her mouth to sound a shrill whistle. The crowd was briefly stunned by her presence, but quickly followed the Commander's lead.

In the few seconds it took for Sam to reach the volus (whose name tag read "Fa'lon Din"), nearly all of the patrons were clapping and cheering along for her. Her cheeks were still burning, though there was an undercurrent of pleasure now.

Gripping her wrist tightly, Mr. Din shook her entire arm enthusiastically. "We've never had a—" Shuddering breath. "—human Kepesh-Yakshi winner. And from a soldier no less!"

The volus waved over the glaring batarian holding Sam's winnings. "T'Suza was our three-time defending champion." Another clicking breath of his ventilator before Din said in a low voice, "About time the Thessia-clan experienced some humility, hm?"

_Brilliant. I'm not the only one who didn't like her._

Samantha almost snorted with laughter but settled for a simple, humble nod as she accepted the _(surprisingly heavy)_ spike-topped trophy. It was a garish yellow crystalline structure with the Silver Coast Casino's logo stamped on the front.

 _It's… really nice. Something to restart the collection, since I don't know if any of my childhood trophies survived the Cerberus and Reaper invasions of Horizon._ Sam had to take a deep breath to stop herself from tearing up. She glanced down to Shepard who was still clapping.

_I think this is a new start I can get behind._

_Or on top of. Or both._

_Later._

A whole different blush this time. Sam was certainly going through a range of emotions this afternoon.

The volus pressed a credit chit into her hand with a clicking breath. "Your winnings, Earth-clan. 50,000 credits. Congratulations again, and don't forget to check out Castle Arcade's other fine events."

There were some echoing cheers as Fa'lon Din waved his way off the dais. Some of the crowd dispersed, but at least half were loitering around Shepard and whispering among themselves. The asari from earlier was nowhere in sight.

Breathing a sigh of relief that it was finally over, Samantha pocketed her credits and descended down to where Shepard stood smiling broadly. Not sure what to do, Sam wiggled the trophy proudly as she closed the distance. "Look! I did it!"

A trill of a laugh. "You sure did, Traynor. Yesterday, actually. I was there."

"I suppose I should give you credit for being some sort of good luck charm," Sam pondered as she reached the woman. "Except I've never held this much money in my hands before and I don't fancy sharing. Sorry, darling."

The "darling" felt a little dangerous with so many people around, but she couldn't help it. Shepard's broad, gorgeous grin was infectious. And made Sam feel so _bloody_ good about herself.

What made her feel even better was how Shepard paused, her green eyes crinkling, before bringing Sam close for a tight hug. The large trophy bumped against their hips. As they started to pull apart, Shepard leaned back to kiss her. There were a few intrigued gasps, which prompted Samantha to deepen the kiss.

_Let 'em leer. She's mine._

Feeling lots of eyes on them, Sam reluctantly pulled away. She shyly tucked a strand of hair behind her ear. "Thank you for coming, Shepard. But how did you even know? I barely knew this was a thing until it was happening."

"That seems to be a common thing for us," Shepard laughed and gave Sam a significant smirk. "EDI alerted me. She recommended I meet you early for lunch. I'm glad I did, I wouldn't have wanted to miss this."

_That clever bot. I should send her a thank-you._

Sam felt a slightly dreamy sigh in her chest over that "us." As they started walking towards the restaurant, Shepard shifted to the side and wrapped an arm around Sam's waist. "So, how'd it feel to have to stand up there with everyone watching?"

"Uh, everyone is **still** watching so I'm not sure I have enough data to answer that yet." Sam nodded her head at the collection of patrons around them still whispering and throwing looks. She felt a childish desire to stick her tongue out at them in protest.

_Take a picture, it'll last longer._

Suddenly, there was a humming click as Sam noticed a grid of orange lines sweep across her vision. An older human man had his Omni-tool out and had just taken their picture.

_I don't think that's to celebrate my chess win._

Shepard's grin was wicked as she guided Samantha around the arcade floor. "So, be honest: which is the better prize? My shower or that trophy?"

"I'll have to make a pros and cons list," Sam said distractedly. She nodded at another group of gawkers. "Doesn't that bother you?"

Acknowledging the group with a small nod, Shepard just kept on going. "It's a little weird. I'd definitely rather be back on my ship rather than a Citadel pseudo-celebrity. Does it bother **you**?"

"That my girlfriend is a bloody war hero? Uh, no. I think I might be cool with it."

It was Sam's turn to try that delicious word on for size. She felt the arm around her waist tighten in appreciation.

"Then we should celebrate. After all, you owe me a lunch since you stood me up yesterday," Shepard said with a wink. "Plus I hear you're flush with credits that are all yours and nobody else's."

They veered over to the bar along the wall as Shepard offered Sam a stool. "But first! A drink!" At Sam's glare, Shepard amended, "On me! On me! …lunch on you but a drink on me!"

Setting the heavy trophy on the bar counter, Samantha used a practiced method to get the bartender's attention: shouting.

"Oy! Barkeep!"

The salarian bartender dutifully side-stepped over to the pair while still cleaning the highball glass in his hands. He just nodded and tilted his head attentively.

Sam jabbed two fingers in the air. "Two Frozen Pyjaks, please. And make hers a double."

Shepard squinted back skeptically. "What the hell is a Frozen Pyjak?"

"Shhh shh shhhh, trust me, darling. You'll love it. I used to make 'em all the time back at Oxford. A little sweet, a lot of kick."

"Grrrreaaat," Shepard drawled out sarcastically.

As Sam raised her glass to her lips, Shepard placed a restraining hand on her wrist.

"Wait. A toast first. To the most beautiful and talented woman I've ever met." There was such a warm, loving crinkle to Shepard's green eyes as she smiled.

A fresh blush warmed Sam's cheeks that she tried to downplay. "You forgot the smartest."

Shepard winked and took a sip. "You've got steep competition. Miranda Lawson raised me from the dead and Liara T'Soni deciphered the Crucible schematics from ancient Prothean. Maybe there's some sort of contest that could prove once and for—"

_Eeep._

"Most talented and beautiful will suffice, thank you," Sam interrupted as she took a deep drink and sighed with pleasure. It was fruity up front with a bitter tang at the end, just as she remembered.

They sipped together in smiling silence for a few moments. Shepard's hand found its way to Sam's thigh and stayed there, occasionally offering a gentle squeeze.

_This was…_

"…heavenly," Sam found herself whispering as she stared at the woman's soft jawline and cheekbones.

"Sorry?" Shepard mumbled as she wiped away an errant liquid moustache. When Sam waved her off, Shepard shrugged. "So, Joker suggested I throw a party before we ship off."

"Brilliant. I'll be there."

Perking up hopefully, Shepard asked, "As my date?"

A broad smile practically made Samantha's cheeks hurt. "Absolutely."

Shepard chuckled as she drained her glass with a slurp. "Glad we're on the same page about—about all this." Her hand gestured back and forth between their two chests.

When the bartender returned to their spot with the bill on a datapad, Shepard made a sputtering noise at the back of her throat.

"Something wrong?" Sam asked as she tossed back the rest of the glass with a smack of her lips.

_Mmmm. Woozy already._

… _Lightweight._

"Just that I might need to take out a loan to pay for these. What's your policy on IOUs?"

"That you can't afford me," Sam retorted sweetly. "And to answer your earlier question: I believe your shower might be the more memorable prize." Sam allowed her toe to trace along Shepard's calf under the bar counter.

Shepard's smile had definitely taken on a hungrier glint. "…What do you say after lunch we hit the showers and—"

A ping vibrated through Samantha's wrist. Sighing, she opened her Omni-tool.

["Something you'd like to tell me? Why did the ANN just update with the headline 'Commander Shepard spotted in Citadel casino supporting new girlfriend after big chess tournament win'? Weren't you just telling me how you finally kicked Polgara T'Suza's arse? Call me. – Mum"]

_Eeep._

"I, uh, better take this."


	6. Chapter 6

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Prompt #12: Things you said when you thought I was asleep, FemShep/Thane

 

_Voice ragged and hungry. Trembling skin soft beneath my fingers. Dark strands stick to her forehead. Cheeks slick from sweat. Lips as one. Breath as one. Move as one._

_Her cry is raw jubilance. Briefly free._

_I gasp to keep up._

_Blue eyes fill with concern. I tell her to stay with me. She stays. She keeps the rhythm. She writhes beneath me, taut sinew in rolling hips._

_I gasp once more. She tells me to stay with her. I did, I do, I will._

_We fall apart, boneless. The scent of skin and sweat. Rustle of sheets._

_I still gasp. I cannot control it. She apologizes for her need. I tell her her need gives me breath, gives me life._

_She used to beg forgiveness. Now she is silent, hooded in worry._

_We agreed it would be the last time. Just like last time._

_I believe her this time. She believes me, too. Tears overflow. She crumples in defeat._

_I hold her as my breaths struggle to slow, air burning in my throat and chest._

_Her skin is so warm. I see dark freckles along her shoulders and back. Constellations crossed with bruises and scars. Some familiar, some new. I see Arashu in her skin-stars._

_My breath finally stills. Peace._

* * *

Thane Krios's eyes shot open. He glanced down to find a human woman's sleeping form still tucked against his chest, tangled in sheets.

Right where he'd left her.

Janet Shepard's breathing was slow and steady. There was the rasp of snore on her inhales, a slight sinus blockage from the earlier shed tears. Smeared mascara around her eyes was the only other evidence of those heated emotions. The rose tint to her cheeks were from… a different reason.

Rolling over, Thane stared above him. The skylight of Shepard's cabin showed the crackling blue energy of the Normandy SR-2's kinetic shields. The stars beyond were oddly still despite traveling faster than the speed of light as the ship surged toward its destination: The Citadel.

"Siha," Thane whispered.

He did not hear her stir. He leaned over to kiss the hairs tucked behind her ear. Still nothing.

"I know you're afraid, Siha," he continued. Thane couldn't help running his fingertips down a creamy shoulder. There was a small fluttering of eyelashes, but Janet's raspy breathing continued.

Thane tried to keep his voice a low rumble. There was much to say, and experience had taught the assassin not to leave the important things unsaid. Irikah had taught him that. Kolyat, too.

"There is much to fear. Of the Reapers. Of yourself. It's easy to miss the battle sleep, the simplicity of knowing your enemy and how to fight them." A pause. "Then again, you're no stranger to… unusual battles with low success rates."

He smiled, remembering the impossible task they'd accomplished mere weeks ago.

" _Suicide Mission."_ The perfect assignment for an assassin past his prime.

It had been brutal, pushing the remaining crew to their limits to enter and destroy the Collector Base. More miraculous was the success of such an impossible mission. They were truly blessed by Kalahira in their hour(s) of need.

Just as miraculous had been his shared time with Shepard just before they reached the base.

_Fist slams on the table. A warm hand touches my arm. "Thane," she says. "Be alive with me tonight."_

She had been warm and responsive the weeks following the destruction of the Collector Base, but that had almost ceased a few days ago.

After the incident at the Alpha Relay.

Thane had tried to coax details from Janet, but she had been unusually quiet. She was starting to retreat back into the cold woman she'd been when Thane had met her. There was always a distance with Commander Janet Shepard, betraying a coiled intensity of justice and compassion.

He knew such a pain only too well.

"Siha," Thane softly ventured again. "You assembled a talented crew. And against all odds that crew succeeded. You inspired us to be better than we are. You inspire **me** to be better, faster. Despite my resignation to my death, you wouldn't allow it. And I won't allow you to fall into regret."

The drell had seen Shepard overcome with regret often in their travels, an unfortunate side effect of being in command. The loss of life in pursuit of Zaeed's vengeance on his Blue Suns partner was a prime example. The woman had watched the burning refinery with a clenched jaw, a turning point from her past ability to overlook the safety of the innocent for the good of the mission.

Thane closed his eyes and saw hers staring back at him intently, a favorite memory.

" _You were operating on instinct. By your own rules, you can't blame yourself."_

_Shepard's voice rang in challenge. A glint in those blue eyes, thoughtful with her own self-reflection. He was aware of her past, her persistent guilt over her losses on Torfan. So many actions dictated by immediate need for results, but shadowed by uncertainty. A soldier at a crossroads._

" _But I made the choice to hunt them. They're the only lives I've ever taken of my own choice. The only deaths on my own conscience." Voice soft with regret, painful but necessary memories._

" _I haven't spoken about my wife in—" Trailed off, fingers clasped at my chin. "…I don't think I ever have. I didn't have anyone left to tell it to."_

_Her smile was one of genuine pleasure, the first he'd seen from the human woman. She admitted, "Maybe I haven't been as up front as I should be. I'm here for you, Thane. Whatever you need."_

_Smooth human hands reach out and enfold. My heart skips a beat. Embers of hope rekindle. A soul disconnected from the body no longer, in more ways than one._

Gratitude at the memory surged in his chest, threatening a cough.

His fingers lingered on smooth scars along her collarbone. Bullet holes. Chemical burns. A timeline of suffering and survival on that smooth skin.

Thane pressed a kiss to those scars with a whisper, "It's not your fault, Siha."

He knew everything, of course. Such an event would be impossible to hide: an entire system of Batarians dead, the mass effect relay at its outskirts destroyed. And Shepard had pulled the trigger just so the rest of the galaxy would have a better chance against the Reapers.

"I wish I'd been at your side, Shepard. Despite the liability. That also would have been a good death. And yes, I'm keeping track of all the …missed opportunities I've had since we met." His smile was rueful. "I find a sense of poetry in that continued irony. But I'm quite content to remain awake and alive."

He allowed a little curl at the corner of his mouth, a warm acknowledgement of Shepard's impact on his life.

The Omni-tool at Thane's wrist hummed with a proximity alert. Only a few short hours remained until their arrival at the Citadel to restock supplies and fuel before their next mission. A mission that Thane had already decided he would not be joining.

"I'm leaving, Siha." A deep cough punctuated the crack in Thane's voice. "When the Normandy docks, I'm going to Huerta Memorial. I've already spoken with the doctors there."

He hoped that confession would make those blue eyes open, but still no reaction. Despite the disappointment, Thane felt a small sense of accomplishment he was the reason Janet slept so deeply.

"It's time that I get the treatment that I need." Another rattling cough. "Thanks to you I would like to live a little longer so I can see you face the Reapers. But I don't want to be a burden to you and the great purpose ahead of you. Ahead of all of you."

This strange little Normandy family was still new to Thane. Working alone for much of his life, cooperation between assassins only occurred during times of low odds or difficult targets (or both) and was exceedingly rare. He found he had enjoyed the presence of the others (though none more than Shepard's).

The competition with "Archangel" had entertained Thane a great deal, as did the mentoring of Tali'Zorah. Even the human Cerberus crew demonstrated such potential under pressure. Though there was a lack of patience at times, particularly from Jacob. Jack took great pleasure attempting to bait Thane, while he derived pleasure from not rising to it (and her ensuing, heated frustration). Conversations with the geth platform Legion had been particularly gratifying in their spiritual and existential exploration.

There was so much to miss now.

"We all have a great purpose now that the Collectors are destroyed. Everyone is needed in their own way. Garrus with the turians, Tali and the Quarians... I don't have such a greater purpose, Siha. I don't want to slow anyone down. I don't want to slow **you** down."

He waited to see if she would awaken and object. No reaction. _Good._

"It will give me more time with Kolyat… Time **you** gave me, Shepard. Which I will be eternally grateful for. You've made my last few months the happiest I've been in a long time. Reuniting with my son is the greatest joy I've had since…" Thane trailed off. He wasn't even about to say Irikah this time. "…Since I met you. And that was a… memorable moment indeed."

_Her voice husky with promise. "I spent two years dead. Every moment seems irreplaceable now."_

He had to tell himself to stop, that this retreat into solipsism would leave him exhausted.

Thane took a deep breath, and suppressed the responding cough. "I love you, Shepard."

Her black eyebrows twitched. It was a small gesture, but his sharp eyes missed nothing. Thane smiled despite himself. Just as he suspected. He coughed this time, a sputtering thing a little louder than necessary.

"I've been given a second chance not just with my son, but with you. I will be there for you, for whatever you need, as long as there is breath still in my body. You have my gun, you have my life, you have my body, you have my soul. I will do what needs to be done, just in my own way now. If there's anything I can do for you on the Citadel, I still know how to be an old spy."

A vibration shook Thane's wrist. A calendar alert from Huerta Memorial confirming his appointment with a renowned Kepral's Syndrome specialist.

A cloudiness started to creep into Thane's mind, his mind and body growing tired only too quickly as of late. He settled back into the covers and resumed staring up at the stars through the skylight.

"I'll write you. I hope that you'll write back. I don't want to say goodbye. I know the fate of the Normandy and her crew weighs heavily on you, Shepard. But I know you'll make the right decision."

Another soft "I love you" escaped Thane's lips as he drifted back to sleep.

* * *

Unnoticed to Thane, a small teardrop traced its way down Janet's cheek. It mingled with her mascara, streaming a watery black line to her upper lip. She licked her lips to rid herself of the salty, ticklish pressure.

Shepard was patient, waiting until she was certain he was asleep before allowing her eyes to open.

She had heard everything, of course.

Ever since the Alpha Relay incident, sleep only came to Shepard in bits and pieces. Always accompanied by that vision of the Reaper Fleet bearing down on the Viper Nebula. Heading for Earth, Harbinger at the head.

It was a sharp, icy fear that sat on Janet's chest. Some days she could barely breathe from the pressure. Her only escapes were in the next mission or Thane's arms.

Crawling out of bed, Janet hesitated at the edge. She felt a flash of envy of how deeply he slept, how peacefully. It took effort not to kiss the small smile at the corner of his mouth.

That smile pleased Janet more than she had ever imagined one could. She remembered when she had admitted, _"Maybe I haven't been as up front as I should be. I'm here for you, Thane. Whatever you need."_ And she had meant it then, just like now.

That was the first impulse she'd ever had to reach out and touch those strong, patient hands. It was not the last. A blush warmed her cheeks when remembered those hands earlier in the evening.

" _You still haven't told me what a siha is."_

" _One of the warrior-angels of the goddess Arashu. Fierce in wrath. A tenacious protector."_

Shepard had a brief instinct to laugh at the memory, imagining herself as some vengeful Valkyrie. It was immediately replaced by another, now familiar, warm sense of giddiness. This was not some empty compliment of her beauty or skill that she was accustomed to receiving from reporters or onlookers (or even fellow crew).

This had been an acknowledgement, from one killer to another, without judgment or condemnation: 'I see all that you are and I respect and honor you.'

So many endured hardships had made Janet so skeptical of the assassin, especially his esoteric spirituality. She had learned long ago to trust herself and herself only, and that getting the job done was her sole reason for living. No matter the cost. The Citadel Council, Torfan, the Rachni, Kaidan, and now the Alpha Relay… Shepard's legacy was built atop a pile of bodies.

_No more._

It was an aching void she never realized she'd grown accustomed to having. She wanted more, to get beyond being just a blunt object. And this drell had been full of answers, her rock in the middle of a hurricane. Each conversation was the safe harbor she'd been craving.

And then…

" _I confess I've come to care for you. Perhaps I'm being foolish. We are very different."_

All the errant thoughts of him she'd been having throughout the days (and nights) had jostled through her mind. A squeezing in her chest had started to warn Janet against this fixation, this attachment to the assassin before her.

The squeezing intensified, and she had blurted out, _"I'm not sure we know each well enough to call it 'love.' …But I feel something for you too. Something more than friendship."_

" _I've never felt affection for another species. I'm not sure what to do now."_

" _We'll just have to figure it out."_

" _I look forward to the memories,"_ Thane had rumbled with a smile.

Janet sighed at the memory as she padded over to her cabin terminal. How she had found someone like him doing what she did, she'll never know.

But the promise of those memories was all that kept her fingers steady as she made her decision.

* * *

["To the attention of Admiral Steven Hackett:

I, Janet Shepard, Commander of the Normandy SR-2, hereby turn myself and my ship over to the authority of the Human Systems Alliance. We will be at dock D24 tomorrow at 0800, security and defensive protocols disabled.

In exchange for my total cooperation, I request that my non-human crew be allowed to return to their respective embassies, and all human crew be granted amnesty for my crimes. As their commanding officer, they were only following my orders.

I will submit to the judgment of the Alliance in regards to the Omega-4 and Alpha Relay incidents if, and only if, the aforementioned requests are granted in perpetuity.

Regards,  
Cmdr Janet Shepard  
SpecTRe ID 04137783.1"]

* * *

Shepard followed up with ship-wide correspondence telling everyone to get the hell off the Normandy at 0700 unless they wanted to be arrested. She chuckled at the almost instantaneous ping from Joker.

["Are you fucking serious? Thanks for the heads up, but I left the Normandy once. Ain't happenin' again."]

Returning to her bunk, Janet settled back in beside Thane. For the first time in days, that unbearable pressure was gone. A human prayer sprang to mind, though she found she liked Thane's religion much better as of late.

" _God, grant me the serenity to accept the things I cannot change, courage to change the things I can, and the wisdom to know the difference. Living one day at a time, enjoying one moment at a time, accepting hardship as a pathway to peace."_

There was so much she wanted to say to him, how much he had changed her for the better (in spite of herself). She settled for simplicity and curled down against his chest.

"I love you, too."

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Ren's Notes:
> 
> It was a nice change of pace to do a FemShep/Thane (not that I'm sick of my OTP FemShep/Traynor!).
> 
> This prompt was requested by Cynical-Pete many many months ago, and I finally stopped sucking long enough to write it for him. His Janet Shepard has been used with permission, and hopefully I did her justice.


	7. good luck

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Just a quiet, sweet little piece taking place in the wee hours of the morning. Annelise Shepard is suiting up for battle and Samantha Traynor really doesn't want her to go yet. Trying to get back into the Mass Effect/Queen's Gambit Accepted groove with a little practice.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Prompt request from Fishbone76: #17
> 
> “Height difference kisses where one person has to bend down and the other is on their tippy toes”

A clattering sound jarred Samantha Traynor awake. Her eyes were heavy and grainy as she rolled over to check the holo clock on the nightstand. The interface glowed a dull orange.

03:13 AM.

_Ughhhhh. That’s too early for **anything**._

The soft sheets hissed under her movement as a chill snuck in under the covers, sending goosebumps up one arm (and down one bare thigh). Rolling over the other way, Sam groaned at the ceiling. “You’ve got to be **bloody** kidding me. You **just** got to sleep.”

_I **know**. I was **there**. _

_It took… **convincing**._

_…Twice._

There was a soft exhale-laugh a few feet away. “And then we got a distress signal and now I have to get up. Oo-rah.” The other woman’s voice was thick with amusement (and probably sleep).

Sam turned over to her right side now, craning her neck up from her pillow. She squinted at the woman before her.

Commander Annelise Shepard stood at her wall locker, the cabinets there staggered half-open to reveal pieces of bulky armor. Clad in a skin-tight underarmor, Shepard had finished assembling the boot, leg and waist pieces and was slowly working through the torso and shoulder armor. The wall glowed dimly, the gridded interface a checklist of suiting up procedure that the marine had long memorized.

A heavy helmet sat on Shepard’s own pillow, facing Sam in a rather unsettling way.

Stretching an arm out from under the warm covers, Sam ran a fingertip down the smooth visor of the red and black N7 helmet. Faintly etched in the surface was the HUD, as were a few deep grooves from stray bullets and Reaper strikes.

Her eyes looked past the helmet and Samantha favored Shepard with her best _(…for 3AM)_ disapproving glare. “Have you ever considered delegating? Some have said—and this is not me, mind you—I’ve heard it said that you’re a bit of a control freak.” She wrinkled her nose with mock-apology.

The response was immediate as Annelise’s head whipped around, red strands following a second later to slap at her cheek. “Oh **really?** This from the woman whose overnight drawer is alphabetized?” Green eyes twinkled in challenge, though they were lined by heavy creases and almost bruise-like bags.

“It’s really quite efficient that way,” Sam agreed with a playful smile (though a small worry shivered up her chest, seeing just how **tired** Shepard really was).

“Uh **huh** ,” Annelise retorted skeptically. Her fingers flew in practiced motions as they examined hard suit gloves and bracers next.

“…but seriously though? Can’t Ashley or Vega take this one? Let the Commander just Command for a change from the sidelines? The safe, warm, comfy sidelines…” Sam dropped her voice to a husky, enticing pitch. She arched her eyebrows and smiled.

_Emphasis on “safe.”_

This **thing** —this **relationship** —had been both the best and worst thing to ever happen to Samantha Traynor.

Because on top of ( _heh_ ) calculating probabilities for quantum entanglement data, she now had a probability index for Annelise Shepard’s workouts, how likely she was to kiss Sam, and how many calories she needed for… certain things.

Unfortunately, Sam also had to factor in variables like “how many bullets until Shepard’s empty” or “how much time does Shepard have until that thing is going to explode” or “odds of survival, give or take Shepard’s absurd luck?”

It was both mind-blowingly rewarding and singularly exhausting for the Comms Specialist.

Take now, for example.

Annelise had slept a grand total of 15 hours over the past four days with an average of 3.75 hours a night. She required about 8,000 calories for an average day, double that for an active mission (supplemented by protein bars and hardsuit bio enchancements). Calorie burn was inversely proportional to sleep, so she was going to need more energy to stay on her feet.

Shepard was never one to restrain her efforts, either. She was forever all-in. With her crew, in battle, in spirit.

…except with herself, that is.

And that always worried Sam. Because while she could flit around Annelise on the Normandy and poke her incessantly about “you bloody well better have eaten or else,” that was infinitely more difficult thousands of kilometers away on a hostile planet or ship.

Oh, how Samantha worried now. …not that she didn’t worry **before** they had strangely fallen together. The only difference now was that she didn’t have to quietly fret at the galaxy map.

Now she could loudly fret from the comfort of Shepard’s bed.

Annelise stopped what she was doing and looked over at Sam. Her chin dropped and a sympathetic frown pulled her lips. “You know I command better with a shotgun,” Annelise said, her low voice laced with mirth.

Her footfalls were heavy as Shepard strode over and sat down on the bed next to Sam. The weight of even half her armor made for a serious dip in the mattress as Sam felt herself slide slightly closer.

Reaching over, Annelise tucked a few errant hairs behind Sam’s ear. Sam leaned into the touch and did her best to look as pouty and scowly as possible. It only made the woman’s cheeks turn with a tight, sad smile. “It **is** pretty comfy. Keep it warm for me?”

“A serious job, but I think I’m up for the challenge,” Samantha teased before kissing Annelise’s palm.

“Oh I don’t doubt it,” Annelise said seriously. With a sigh, she stood up and continued assembling the rest of her hard suit. There was no slouch or scowl to the Commander’s posture, just calm, focused effort.

Sam wanted to protest further. Coax and bribe and plead for her to stay. But, she wouldn’t be Commander Shepard if she didn’t go and answer the call.

_Bloody hell, I wish she were just a liiiiittle bit less noble._

_…no you don’t, Traynor. You’re just bitchy and buggered._

_Hmmmmph._

An airy voice pulled Sam out of her grousing. “So… do I get my good luck charm this time?” Annelise asked with a hopeful lilt.

Pushing the covers off, Samantha shivered in the night chill before rolling into a standing position. She hissed at the cold floor as she padded over to where Shepard was finishing the rest of her armor, the clasps closing with a dull metallic thud.

It was always breathtaking to see Shepard in her full, armored glory. She was a hulking presence. Her normal inch or two increase in height ballooned to a good six inch difference with the armor. It was even more dramatic for a tiny, trembling Samantha Traynor clad only in undies.

Arms open and outstretched, Annelise waited with a wide smile. Her eyes were closed in anticipation.

Sam leaned up to kiss her cheek… and leaned up and up and—

_Sonofabitch!_

She rapped a knuckle on the N7 emblem on Shepard’s breastplate to get the woman’s attention. “Sorry, darling. Either bend down or help a girl up. Otherwise…” Sam let the threat hang in the air.

When Annelise’s eyes opened in confusion, Sam gave a demonstration of her current issue. She craned her neck upward, then stood on her tiptoes, then attempted a small hop that barely crested the wide neck piece of the armor.

“See my ordeal?”

“Not at all,” Annelise said smugly. She gave a small bend at the waist, pursing her lips in a teasing fashion. But she kept her lips just out of reach from Sam’s stretch, even going so far as to jerk slightly out of the way when Sam hopped again.

“I don’t need this aggravation, **darling** ,” Samantha said. “I can just go right back to bed while you go rescue kittens from trees. That are probably on fire.” She started to pull away, that bed so tantalizingly close.

But a gloved hand reached out and snagged her wrist. And there was no wriggling out of that grasp. Giving a dramatic sigh, Sam turned back and shot Annelise an expectant look.

A sad pout. “I’ll behave this time.”

This time, Sam felt the hairs stand up at the back of her neck as goosebumps pebbled up her arms. There was a faint crackle of blue energy around Annelise’s green eyes.

“You lazy cheater,” Sam announced as threads of biotic energy pulled at her armpits and under her knees to bring her up the requisite distance to be face-level with Shepard. “…are you quite pleased with yourself?”

“Quite, actually.” That full-lipped smile was mischievous.

“Mmhm,” Samantha muttered as she leaned forward and captured those lips in a deep kiss. She could feel Annelise’s smile against her cheeks and it was briefly infectious.

When Sam pulled away, a scathing rebuke was ready on her tongue. But she didn’t get the chance to utter it. With a flurry of movement, Sam felt her body jerk upright as she was hefted over Annelise’s armored shoulder, the plate digging into Sam’s tummy and thigh.

Sputtering in outrage, Sam was helpless as Annelise spun her around the cabin with a joyful laugh. She thumped a fist on the woman’s back, but the hardsuit just absorbed her feeble efforts with barely a slapping sound.

“It’s for good luck, Sam!” Annelise announced as she continued spinning.

“What is, making your girlfriend puke all over your lovely armor?!”

With a laugh, Annelise stopped and set Sam gently down on the bed. She hovered over Sam, eyes studying Samantha’s face with a warm crinkle. Annelise leaned down and kissed Sam hard this time. Sam suppressed a laugh of her own at the woman’s burst of energy.

When they finally pulled apart, breathless, Sam nuzzled her nose against Annelise’s cheek.

“You’re absolutely terrible. You know this, right?” she whispered.

“Can’t have you miss me too much,” Annelise stated matter-of-factly. “It’s bad luck.”

“I have a **lot** of questions about your superstitions.”

“You can ask. I might not answer.” That grin was wide and impossibly smug.

“Ugh. Go save the world already,” Sam scowled as she gave Annelise a last, petulant kiss.

The bed lurched as Shepard pushed herself off of Sam and went around the side to scoop up her helmet. She shot Samantha a warm wink before heading back to the armor locker and stowing all the open drawers and cabinets.

Reaching into Shepard’s side table by the bed, Sam pulled out a blueberry protein bar. She tossed it at the woman’s head. Shepard caught it mid-air with her biotics, her eyebrow quirking in question.

“Do eat something, darling. If you faint mid-battle because you were showboating in the bedroom, you won’t hear the end of it. Particularly from Garrus. Because I’m going to tell him.”

“You wouldn’t.”

“I would,” Sam airily threatened as she made a show of checking her nails.

Scowling, Annelise unwrapped the bar and took a childish, deliberate bite. “Oo-rah, darling,” she retorted as she headed towards the cabin entrance. At the doorway, she turned back and gave a wide, crinkling smile.

Then disappeared as the door swished shut behind her.

Snuggling back under the covers, Sam closed her eyes for a few long minutes. Then she sighed and opened her Omni-tool to patch into the Normandy’s communications. From under her blanket fort, Samantha flicked through the interface to track Shepard’s progress.

When Annelise didn’t sleep, neither did she.


	8. useless

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Sam is reading a book. Shepard is building a model. They’re both terrible.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Prompt #19 for Shaynor: ”kisses meant to distract the other person from whatever they were intently doing”

Samantha Traynor glared from across the cabin, a datapad in hand. She sat on the low couch, her mind spinning with potential strategy.

Her target: Annelise Shepard.

Her objective: **Revenge**.

The datapad glowed with the book Sam had been attempting to read earlier (a trashy romance novel downloaded from Allers’ collection of trash). It had been an excellent morning ritual. A nice little balance of fluff and smut and drama. The asari heroine was torn between her two lovers, a proud quarian warrior and a demure salarian envoy.

Perfect for a quiet morning in on her (their) day off. Then Shepard had gone and ruined it for sport. And Sam was determined to make her pay.

* * *

Sam was just minding her own business, reading her book in her pajamas and sipping her coffee. A picture-perfect houseguest in Shepard’s cozy captain’s quarters. Annelise had been at her giant aquarium feeding her (2nd generation) collection of fish when it started.

Light and casual, Annelise had asked, “Whatcha readin’?”

“Oh… you know,” Sam hummed back distractedly.

“I do not, actually,” Annelise retorted. “…is this an Allers book?” Her tone suggested an accusation.

Sam didn’t even need to look up to sense the narrowed-eyed look in her direction. Sam deflected with a chuckle. “If you already know, why did you ask?”

A scolding _tsk_ sound deep in Shepard’s throat. “You’re gonna to be ‘bloody useless’ today, aren’t you?” Her attempt at mimicking Sam’s accent was atrocious at best.

“That was the plan, darling,” Sam replied with a sip of her coffee.

> _Alira and Zeva gazed into each other’s eyes._
> 
> _“But what about Sirin?” Zeva asked, her glowing eyes slanted with worry under her red mask._
> 
> _“Sirin is amazing… but she’s not you. No one is you,” Alira replied, hands reaching for—_

Annelise’s voice broke into her thoughts. “How about a game of chess?”

Glancing up, Sam’s lips quirked in a smile. “We lent my set to Ashley, remember? So she and Tali could have a row of the minds rather than the fists?”

_I would know: I had to run the betting pool._

_Three to one Ashley because she’s familiar with the game. And a bigger nerd than she cares to admit._

_Four to one Tali because she’s an engineering genius. And ridiculously competitive according to Garrus._

_Too close to call, honestly._

_Can’t wait for the prelims to end so I can put some credits down. …I say Tali. Shepard says Ashley._

“Oh… right.” The disappointment on Annelise’s face actually made Sam smile wider.

But Sam continued reading.

> _—hands reaching for Zeva’s. Her fingers stroked the soft texture of the biosuit._
> 
> _The quarian was uncertain, but melted into the asari’s touch. She—_

“You up for a movie? I can rustle up some freeze-dried popcorn from the Mess Sergeant. How about Blasto 2? I hear the director’s cut has some epic commentary…”

Her eyes flicking back up to Annelise, Sam gave a nonchalant shrug. “Maybe later? Not really feeling popcorn first thing in the morning.” She made an exaggerated expression of disgust, her tongue lolling out.

_Popcorn mixed with coffee? Blech._

_No thank you._

The woman’s cheeks puffed out with an exasperated exhale, her messy red bangs wafting slightly in the breeze. “You’re just gonna sit there and read all morning?”

“That was my plan, yes,” Samantha airily replied as she took a dramatic coffee slurp this time. She made a show of snuggling against the apex of the L-shaped couch, her legs splayed out comfortably across the length.

> _—She leaned forward of her own accord. Zeva’s right hand traced along the familiar contours of Alira’s cheek all the way to her crest. She fondly remembered the last time they—_

The couch shifted as Annelise sat down at Sam’s right. Her peripheral vision caught a pair of fingertips walking towards her thigh. Tilting her chin towards Shepard, Sam’s eyes remained on her book. “Don’t you have a new model you were dying to work on? Perhaps now would be a good time to start?”

“Perhaps,” came the insincere reply. Those fingertips crept up Sam’s thigh and began to stroke inward. The couch shifted again as Annelise scooted closer, her hot breath tickling at Sam’s neck.

Still not looking over, Samantha asked, “Something on your mind, darling? …You really don’t do well sitting idle, do you?” She couldn’t keep amusement out of her voice.

_Frankly, dear: you’re absolute rubbish at it._

“Why be idle, when we could…” Annelise trailed off as her lips found Sam’s exposed collarbone.

Biting her lower lip, Sam had inwardly scowled.

_Stay strong, Traynor._

“Because learning to be still is absolutely lovely. You should give it some practice. Perhaps right now, for example.”

That same, insincere “Perhaps” was whispered back as those lips kissed their way up Sam’s neck now.

_Yes..._

_No, it’s fine. I am reading my bloody book._

_…Where was I? Oh yes, Zeva and Alira were finally back together._

“Shepard…” Samantha warned. She kept her eyes petulantly glued to her book, determined to stay unruffled.

Another shift on the couch. Annelise had moved her body against Sam’s elbow and side. Fingertips gently pushed back the loose, messy black hair around Samantha’s throat to allow easier access. Those breathless kisses continued up to Sam’s jawline.

Sam warned again but her heart wasn’t in it. “Shepard…” It came out more as a whine.

Annelise knew she’d won and pressed her advantage. With warm fingertips, she tilted Sam’s chin towards her and kissed deeply. The datapad slipped from Sam’s grasp and slid down her thigh to the floor with a clattering sound.

Turning, Sam tangled her fingers in Annelise’s hair as they laid back on the couch exchanging soft kisses. Every so often there would be a pause and a smile before continuing. During one such reprieve, Samantha whispered, “You are absolutely terrible.”

“I know,” was the husky reply. Annelise started to pull at Sam’s t-shirt, her exhale-laugh a warm breath on Sam’s cheek. Sam traced her own fingers along the elastic of Annelise’s waistband and started to tug downward.

A familiar voice came over the cabin intercom.

[“Commander Shepard, you have an incoming message from the Fifth Fleet. Admiral Hackett is requesting your presence immediately.”]

“Don’t. You. Bloody. Dare. **Shepard**.” Sam spat every word as she glared up at the woman.

Annelise at least had the decency to look apologetic, but she stood up all the same. Leaving Sam half-reclined on the couch with her shirt half-off.

Her grin was both sheepish and wicked. “Sorry, Sam. Duty calls?” Smoothing a hand over her own casual clothes and messy hair, Annelise headed for the stairs.

Spying Shepard’s N7 hoodie on the coffee table, Sam leaned over to snag it and threw it the woman. She was aiming for her face. “You will pay for this. You will **suffer** and I will laugh and laugh and **laugh**.”

The woman easily caught the jacket and nodded her thanks. Annelise stuck one arm through it as she made her way to the doorway. Her voice was sing-song. “Thanks, darling! Enjoy your book!” And with that, Shepard disappeared through the cabin doors.

Samantha scooped up the datapad on the floor after pulling her shirt back down. She was grinding her teeth as she struggled to find her bookmark. But it was useless. Her concentration was broken.

Sighing, Sam headed for the shower and turned the knobs.

Shepard would **pay** for this.

* * *

It was hard to fume all alone in a room for two hours. But Sam found a way, mostly by plotting revenge.

_Tickle her to death? …She’s not very ticklish. You are, though. And she’s **far** stronger. _

_Spike her coffee? …With what? Some harsh language?_

_Break… something? …Awfully childish and awfully dickish._

_Poison her fish? …Jesus, Traynor. Too dark._

_Rearrange the room? …Oh yea, a little feng shui will really show her._

_…Pretty much any strategy that involves leaving the cabin with you in your skivvies is out, Traynor. Or anything physical, because she’s Commander bloody Shepard and you’re a wet noodle by comparison._

_She has to **pay**!_

_The solution is so bloody obvious, Traynor. Outsmart her._

**_What do you think I’ve been trying to do for the last couple hours?_ **

_Whinge and moan, mostly. Think, Traynor. Give her a piece of her own medicine._

_Hmmmmmmm._

EDI’s voice came over the intercom once more. [“Per your request, Commander Shepard is on her way back to her quarters. You have approximately 76 seconds until her estimated time of arrival, Specialist Traynor.”]

“Thank you, EDI.”

[“I am pleased to assist.”]

Composing herself back on the couch, Samantha tamed her still-damp hair and propped the datapad on her knees. Also thinking better of it, Sam pulled down one strap of her clean camisole. Just for good measure.

_5… 4… 3… 2…_

A moment later, the Captain’s Cabin doors swished open and Annelise Shepard strode back inside.

“Welcome back, darling. A good call, then?” Sam asked, her voice light and airy. She stared at the datapad, the words blurred together and nonsensical at this point. Her fingers stroked a mug of tea at her side, the scent of honey drifting up with the steam.

“The usual. Some unusual Reaper activity to investigate,” Annelise replied, her footsteps timid as she approached the stairs. “Look, Sam… about before—“

Sam cut her off, a sweet smile pulling her cheeks. “Oh, don’t worry about it, Shepard. Duty calls and all that. I completely understand.”

“So you’re not mad?”

Still not looking up, Samantha asked, “What is there to be mad about?”

_Just you working me up and leaving right when things got good? It’s fine, you tosser. Just fine._

“Okay… if you’re sure. I didn’t mean to just… We could pick up where we—?“

“Forgiven and forgotten, darling,” Sam interrupted again, this time allowing her eyes the barest flick upward. “Part of the life we chose, since you’re rather important to this whole war effort business.” She even managed a wink.

“True…”

Sam smiled sweetly at Annelise, who dug her toe in the stairs with a sheepish smile back. “Why don’t you work on that new model you picked up at the Citadel? Give me a chance to finish my book?” Sam asked as she saluted with her mug of tea.

“Okay…” Annelise trailed off fretfully but didn’t argue. She sidestepped over to her desk just above where Sam sat on the couch.

The woman sounded so genuinely apologetic that Sam almost started to feel bad about being pissy.

… _Almost_.

Sipping her honeyed tea, Samantha carefully listened from her vantage point on the couch. A scrape of plastic on a container, the rustle of sheets of ship parts, the snap of the clasp on Shepard’s model assembly tools… Annelise had started a ritual of her own.

But not just yet. She was waiting for the right moment.

She knew it well. She’d seen it so many times before. There was this threshold of investment that Shepard had to cross in her brain, where she went from distant to completely absorbed.

_Forever all-in, and all that._

It happened in battle (usually immediately). It happened when Shepard was studying the galaxy map for their next objectives. It happened when she played chess or a video game or watched a movie with Sam. Or when they made love.

There would be this intense line of focus across Annelise’s brow, her mouth would get small, and those green eyes would sparkle with ferocity.

It even happened when Shepard was building her ship models… usually around 15 minutes into the process. Just enough time for her quick mind to assess all the pieces and start to build.

Standing up to stretch, Samantha tried to be casual as she glanced over at Annelise at her desk (through the glass case of already-built models).

There she was. Gaze focused. Shoulders hunched. Fingers nimble.

_Time to strike._

Sam mumbling something about needing to pee as she made her way over to the bathroom. Annelise didn’t so much as glance over, though she did make a vaguely acknowledging grunt-and-nod.

She gave the toilet a hand wave to trigger the flush sensor before creeping back around behind Shepard.

This was the hard part that Sam had labored over in her mind. She couldn’t just sneak attack the woman. That was the fastest way to get accidentally punched in the face from those marine reflexes.

No, it had to be casual. Make Annelise aware of her presence but still suspect nothing until it was too late.

Clearing her throat, Sam slid along the side of the L-shaped desk closest to the bathroom. “I was thinking of grabbing lunch later. Maybe see Allers after? Talk about her awful smut-book?”

“Sounds good, darling,” Annelise muttered back, her shoulders twitching as she worked.

_Hmmmm…_

Sam narrowed her eyes and tilted her head as she approached Annelise’s right elbow. “I was also thinking of taking off all my clothes and dancing naked in the drive core. I hear the radiation is great for your skin.”

“Sounds good, darling,” Annelise repeated, her voice a disinterested mumble.

 _Perfect_.

There was this one spot, just behind the woman’s right ear near her neck, that drove Annelise wild. It was there Sam focused her effort. Running her hand gently up Shepard’s elbow, Sam leaned in as she pushed the short red hair back.

“Does it ‘sound good, darling?’” Sam echoed with a husky whisper before flicking her tongue over That Spot. She then blew a small breath where her tongue had touched and saw goosebumps raise.

The response was immediate. A sharp intake of breath and Annelise’s shoulders stiffened.

But Sam didn’t stop there. Her left hand wandered along the other side of Annelise’s neck and slipped in under her hoodie. A line was drawn with a fingernail down her collarbone to a breast. Just as the hand drew lower, Annelise turned in her chair to kiss Sam. Hard.

Sam felt herself pulled into Shepard’s lap. She grinned as the woman again captured her lips in a deep, lip-biting kiss.

Annelise pulled away, her mouth ghosting over Sam’s with light almost-bites. She whispered, “I knew you weren’t going to let me off so easy.”

“What can I say? I hold a grudge,” Samantha replied with a wink. “Especially when you don’t let me be useless.”

An exhale-laugh. “I promise to… try to be better. It’s just so hard to—“ Annelise trailed off, her nose wrinkling in consideration.

“Give yourself a moment to breathe? To think?” Sam supplied. She traced a fingertip along Annelise’s jaw. “Building a model or reading a book doesn’t mean you’re not 100% dedicated to the war effort, love.”

The woman frowned, but didn’t argue with Sam’s words. She gave a begrudging shrug. “Maybe you’re right…”

“I’m always right,” Samantha confirmed with a grin and nose-kiss.

Annelise smiled warmly and kissed Sam’s nose back. “Thank God I have a smart ass Comm Officer around to keep me in line.” Her eyes sparkled wickedly as she leaned back in. “Now… where were we?”

And with that, Sam stood up with a theatric yawn. “I just remembered, I need to go talk to Allers about this awful book I borrowed. You understand, right? **Darling**?” That last word had a hard edge.

She patted Annelise’s cheek condescendingly before turning on her heel and headed for the doors. There was a small pop accompanied by a flash of blue light. Suddenly, Annelise was standing directly in front of Sam in the hallway, crackles of biotic threads fading from around her body.

“Oh?” Sam asked airily. “Something you needed to tell me?” She smiled back with mock-sweetness.

“Something I needed to show you, actually,” Annelise said before scooping up Samantha and carrying her back to the bed.

The doors swished shut behind them.


End file.
